


Kill Me Heal Me

by Exousiha



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I'll add more characters later, Implied Reaper76, Implied Relationships, Implied Widowtracer, McHanzo - Freeform, Other, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exousiha/pseuds/Exousiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of when a pacifistic prodigy, heirs to a titanic criminal organization, and a hotshot cowboy join the largest military organization in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits made 14 November 2016 to some minor details / plot.

**A Tuesday 20 Years Ago | MST 13:34 **

Death came to her in many forms. Through other people. Through herself. Through shells and mortars and battlefields. Through her parents.

_When you could, you should._ Angela’s mother’s voice haunted the back of her mind like a favorite song. Always there, always familiar. Most of the time it was a whisper. Other times, it was a siren; piercing her mind and rattling her bones.

Death came to her in many forms.

Today, death comes in the form of blood blooming from shrapnel holes in the chest of a teenage boy.

A long, thin, burning cigar drops from the boy’s mouth right before his pistol slides through his weakened grasp. His eyes well with tears as he drops to his knees and looks down at his bloodied clothes, his ruined body, his shaking hands.

Angela's pistol-- unfired-- shakes in her hand, pointing to where the boy's chest used to be, and where Reyes and his smoking shotguns stand.

Absolute horror shines in her eyes. He smirks back at her, tossing his shotguns to the side.

“Looks like I saved your ass, kid.”

 

** MST 12:57 **

She feels next to no movement as the Blackwatch stealthcraft flies her, Gabriel Reyes, and five other Blackwatch agents above the Southwest of the United States. The stealthcraft boasts no windows and they were prohibited from bringing devices that weren't imperative to the mission. Her only source of entertainment lay in the earpiece that Winston had given her. It doubled as a radio, picking up AM, FM, and XM frequencies from the nation below. After fifteen minutes of listening to "Bluegrass Junction", Angela decided that silence was the better option. American country music lyrics seemed to focus a lot on beer, sex, and mortality-- specifically of the Judeo-Christian variety. On her first-- she was determined to make it her  _last_ \-- field mission with Overwatch, she did not want to dwell on the thought of any form of afterlife.

_Not yet, anyway. There is still so much to be done,_ Angela muses to herself, her fingers absently fiddling with the strap of her backpack filled to the brim with her latest prototypes and medicines. 

Reyes did not look as nervous; this was probably just a routine mission for him. His lids lazily draped themselves like heavy curtains over his dark eyes, arms crossed over straps and buckles. Multiple shotguns, grenades, and other weapons of destruction cover every inch of his body. He looks like a walking powder keg.

Angela preferred Commander Morrison’s style. He dressed to neutralize, not destroy. Nevertheless, they were birds of a feather, so while Blackwatch was observed from the Commander's peripheral-- Blackwatch was Reyes' territory. America's Golden Boy wouldn't dare cross that line.

She found herself wishing he was here.

_“You’ll be fine.” The Commander smiles his warm smile. “Reyes is one of the best. He’s never let me down.” He pulls a pistol from one of his holsters and folds it into Angela’s hands. He continues holding her hands, reassuring and steady. The pistol feels cold, wrapped by her clammy fingers. "Here. Last resort. You can save so many people by staying alive. Remember that."_

_When he lets go, the world feels much colder._

Angela turns the pistol in her hands. It feels heavy and cold and foreign. She hastily puts it back in it’s holster, locking it down. She wouldn’t use it.

Overwatch prepared her enough for the mission-- they definitely had the money to do so. They outfitted her with impressive clothes that consisted of flame retardant and bulletproof material. Canvas pants, a beige jacket, and an overall tan ensemble to help them blend in with the desert. She feels more like an inexperienced safari explorer beginning an expedition.

“Five minutes until we reach Deadlock Gorge. Prepare to attack,” Athena’s soothing voice chimes in through the earpiece. Reyes grunts his affirmation before unbuckling himself. He looks to Angela and says--

“Ready, kid?”

Angela forces a smile. The doctors at Universitätsspital Zürich called her a child, too. They chided and berated her for surpassing them, for obtaining what they had coveted for years in just a few, short months, and at such a young age-- she hadn’t even lived twenty years. She is a month away from eighteen years of age and she is head of surgery. The patients eyed her warily; the doctors looked down on her, claiming superiority through age, not brains. Not experience.

She paid them no attention. Her dream, her passion, and her hopes were always bigger than herself. Doctor’s should not have an ego. It is contrary to their very work.

She would never be able to save her parents, but she could save someone else’s.

_When you could, you should._ She could see her mother smile.

_Never deal in absolutes. What is absolute in this life?_ Angela’s father would say with a shrug before scooping his daughter in his arms. _Except_ you _are an absolute genius and I absolutely love you!_

_Ich liebe dich, Schatz,_ he would spin on his heel, pretending to lose his balance and keep her from falling. He always was able to save her.

“Of course,” Angela responds to Reyes with a polite smile.

He stands up, adopting a power stance and looking down at his agents and his guest.

“Here’s what you need to know, kid,” Reyes starts, his gaze fixed on Angela. “The Deadlock Gang is planning on sabotaging a train in less than ten minutes  and our top priority is stopping the gang, no matter what. Some time about three years ago, they recruited some hot shot-- literally-- who leaves no-one alive. A clean shot through the head every time. You.” Reyes points his permanent glare towards Angela. “You make sure we make it out _without_ that bastard’s bullet in our brains. We’ll see if you really are as impressive as Morrison believes.”

“With all due respect,” Angela starts. “I am no shield. I only fix what is broken, I cannot prevent it from breaking.”

He blatantly ignores her, procuring a miniature, circular drone that fit in his palm from some hidden pocket of his. “Winston made this. You can’t hear it-- probably’ll forget it’s even there. It’s gonna monitor you and the situation _and_ it’s live over in Gibraltar. They’re recording everything. No pressure.”

Reyes tosses it over to her, and she prepares to catch it but it comes to life near her and starts orbiting her. Her own personal, surveillance satellite. She feels something rise in her throat. Maybe nerves, maybe bile. She didn't enjoy people watching her. She especially didn't enjoy firefights. Now she is being tossed into a hostile situation with a camera trained on her.

“Choi, Martinez-- you take point in Big Earl’s. No-one gets past you. Sagan, Flynn-- you take the Western entrance of the Panorama Diner. Patel, Ziegler-- you’re with me,” Reyes orders. The other Blackwatch agents bark their acknowledgments but Angela remains silent, acutely aware of her increasing heartbeat.

 

** MST 13:08 **

After they had touched down, Reyes corralled the hungry citizens in the diner into the kitchen and warned them to stay out of the way if they wanted to live. It was only a few moments after when they heard the whistle of an incoming train sound in the distance. Choi and Martinez already left for Big Earl’s. Sagan and Flynn scrambled to the Western entrance.

“Come on,” Reyes orders Patel and Angela as he makes his way to the opposite entrance. She follows, looking back to the kitchen-- a little girl peeks her head out to see what’s going on. Angela waves her hand for her to go back inside, so she does.

Angela found herself praying to keep these people safe. Most of them are tourists, just looking to relax from the horrors of the world, and they found themselves right in the thick of it.

“I believe I should stay with the civilians. Someone has to make sure they’re safe,” Angela tells Reyes. He looks over his shoulder, his eyes flicking to her, then the kitchen doors, then back to her before snorting. He is... amused?

“Kid, if the Deadlock Gang gets passed us, these people are already dead.”

Angela feels what she believes is the equivalent of her internal organs falling through her body and her skin goes cold.

“So,” Reyes looks her in the eyes so he gets his point across. “There is no room for failure. Understood?”

Angela nods, and Reyes says nothing else as he looks out the window of the diner door. Her heart is racing-- the drone orbiting her like a moon wasn’t helping either.

_Why am I here? I have no field experience, I have no combat skills-- God, what am I doing?_

_“You’ll be fine.”_

The Commander’s voice rang in her head-- almost as loud as her mother’s.

_I’ll be fine._

_I’ll be fine._

_I’ll be fine._

 

** MST 13:30 **

Dr. Angela Ziegler, head of surgery, was very far from fine. The mission unofficially started when the squealing of a halted train sounded through the canyon and pierced through the diner. Then there was the howling and the gunshots.

Reyes smashed the window open with his elbow and Patel lined up his shot-- using his sniper rifle to fell the members of the Deadlock Gang. He got three of them before the rest of them wised up and headed towards the diner. Reyes took the opportunity to burst through the doors and head straight for them, a shotgun in each hand. They must have been modified, because even from a considerable distance away-- he was able to wreak havoc.

Patel stayed in the diner, keeping his eye on other sharpshooters or stray gunmen. Sagan and Flynn used pistols and assault rifles, flanking whoever Reyes wasn’t plowing through.

Angela decided to use a performance enhancing drug on Patel.

It will help your focus and heighten your senses, she claimed before injecting him with a blue serum. Petal let out a sigh, saying this shit really works before lining up his shots, again.

Angela watched as Blackwatch and Deadlock hid behind boulders, vehicles, and cacti, emerging to shoot and ducking again as bullets whizzed past them. The Deadlock Gang even had someone with a bow and arrows.

_Now or never_ , she thought to herself before sprinting into the fray.

Never would have been better.

She was certain she felt the heat of each individual bullet that nearly took her life.

Twenty minutes of hopping from Reyes to Sagan to Flynn, sweat consuming her body and panic running through her veins. Sagan had a few grazes-- child’s play. Flynn had a concussion-- easy. Reyes seemed untouched by the carnage.

Now, Angela hides behind a boulder, alone. She has an inkling of an idea to take a break when a flash of red from above catches her eye. A figure runs along the side of the canyon, silent, swift, and graceful. He wears a cowboy hat, too. A little stereotypical for her tastes, but everyone has their own style.

He slides down the steep cliff and does an impressive roll until he is back on his feet-- not a movement without meaning.

She questions if he is a part of the Deadlock Gang before her doubts subside at the sight of him pulling out a pistol, keeping it at his hip as he surveys his surroundings. He doesn’t seem to notice her before ducking into the diner. Patel had already moved out, so no-one was inside. No-one except--

The image of a little girl peeking her head out from the kitchen door blinds her.

_There is no room for failure._

_Understood?_

She scrambles up from her hiding spot and sprints towards the main entrance of the diner. When she gets past the doors she fumbles for Morrison's pistol in the dimly light space. The cold metal of the pistol brushes along her fingertips and she grabs it, holding the weapon with both hands in front of her. Her footsteps, her breathing, and the quiet hum of the surveillance drone sound deafening in the unnatural silence. Or maybe she is just terrified.

She passes the corner and gets to the main room of the diner.

At the door of the kitchen, she sees a figure-- a red bandana draped over his shoulders and a metallic chest plate, and donning a worn, leather cowboy hat like from the American movies-- kneeling down.

Angela is ready to shoot or scream or do whatever it takes to get him away from the door but she doesn't do a thing when she sees a callous, tan hand reach to a small head of wispy, red hair and tousle the strands. A giggle escapes the girl and she grabs at the hat, knocking it out of place on his mangy head.

The figure evades the little one’s grasp and gently nudges her back inside before letting the door swing shut. A rumbling sigh sounds from him and he fixes his hat back on.

“Y’know you’re breathing louder than horse on a hot day.”

He stands up and turns to face her, and Angela is surprised by how young he looks. His face is free from wrinkles and there is a small patch of hair under his bottom lip. Hair covers his arm and sprouts unceremoniously from underneath his hat in a wild mess like a tumbleweed.

She swallows back her nerves and puts on a brave face, despite her shaking body. She'd done it many times before, pretending to be courageous. But usually it was when she was informing someone of a life-threatening illness. And she wasn't holding a gun.

“Stay away from them. They have done nothing to you.”

“I know, darlin’. But you sure as shootin’ are ‘bout to do somethin’ to me,” the cowboy raises an eyebrow as he slowly takes a few steps forward. The spurs drag along the tiles of the diner floor and make an off-putting clanking sound every time they catch between the cracks.

Angela and the cowboy dance, each traveling a half circle, until she firmly plants herself in front of the kitchen doors.

“You gonna shoot me, or are you just gonna stand there like a coward?” He asks.

“Better a coward than a killer.”

“Poetic,” the cowboy smirks, pulling out a packet of cigars. He takes a long, thin cigar and puts it between his lips, lighting it with a lighter in a single, fluid motion. He takes a drag, and slowly releases it-- smoke billowing out of his nostrils and his lazily opened lips.

She bites back a comment on how smoking will kill him, but can’t help the other thought that slips out--

“How old are you?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing, darlin’.”

“Answer my question, I asked first.” Her voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. Someone who always spends their Tuesdays foiling infamous gang plots. It took years of practice; pretending she was fine.

The cowboy shrugs, “Fair enough. Eighteen years in two weeks.”

“You are seventeen?”

“If we're bein' technical. What about you?”

“I decline to answer.”

“Well, shit, I shoulda just said that,” the teenager chuckles, taking another drag of his cigar. He peers over at the clock on the diner wall and shakes his head with a smile. “I’ll be, would ya look at the time.”

Angela’s eyes can’t help but flicker over. Almost 12:34 PM. In a flash, the boy pulls out his pistol and keeps it at his hip.

The boy's gaze turns cold and murderous.

_Some hot shot who leaves no-one alive._

Angela imagines a clean hole through her skull, blood trickling down her forehead.

Her eyes close before the shot comes. It does come, but... not a single, fatal pistol. A messy, cacophonous spray of bullets. A shotgun.

She opens her eyes, the teenage boy slumps to the ground, as shocked as he is.

Death comes to her in many forms. Death comes as Gabriel Reyes holding his smoking shotguns. He tosses them to the ground, giving her a knowing smirk.

“Looks like I saved your ass, kid.”

Angela immediately looks away from him. The truth is cold, but the look in Reyes’ eyes is colder. Instead, she looks to the bleeding boy on the ground and wonders if she can save him.

_When you could, you should._

She drops the pistol the ground and runs to the boy who would have been her killer. She knocks his hat off and cradles his head in her hands. A cold sweat creates a sheen around his shaking body.

“Karma _is_ a bitch,” he coughs, weakly. “I know it ain’t right, but... No hard feelings?”

A feeble, crooked smile dances on his lips. He looks her in the eye as the light begins to leave his.

Doctor Angela Ziegler never had an unsuccessful surgery. A doctor would, inevitably, have patients die on them. It was practically in the job description. In her short career, she never had the misfortune of watching someone die.

Not yet, and certainly not now.

The light almost fades completely before Angela brings back her right hand and slaps him across the face. Her palm might as well have been a defibrillator and he lets out a small gasp.

“Die on me, cowboy, and I will kill you,” she warns him before unbuckling her backpack. Reyes lazily sits down in one of the diner chairs.

_At least he is staying out of the way._

The contents of her backpack spill out to the floor and she looks for the one that looks like a thermos. She uncaps it and slams it to the ground-- a puff of nanobiotic “dust” ejects from the top and surrounds them in a golden haze.

A pleasant sigh sounds from the boy.

Angela hastily strips off his chest piece and rips open his shirt. The sight of a hairy chest and a vague outline of a sculpted abdomen was riddled with bleeding holes. The nanobots work tirelessly, speeding up platelet growth and stopping further bleeding. Stopping the bleeding took priority but there were still bits of metal digging further into him with every beat of his heart. She scrambles over the diner counter, searching for a sharp knife that could double as a razor. When she finds a suitable substitute, she shaves as much hair off his chest as she can. She pulls out a small metal detector and slowly waves it over his chest, checking for the location of the shrapnel.

“Don’t usually go this far on the first date,” he mumbles through gritted teeth.

“Do you usually bleed to death on the first date?” She marks the spots indicated by the detector, before tossing it towards the bag. Too many marks surrounded his heart and too little time to get to a proper hospital. Angela rolls out a black kit, surgical tools slid under a band. She pulls out a scalpel and turns off the thermos-like contraption.

“There’s a first time for everythi-AH--” he grunts out in pain as Angela starts making incisions in his chest. She couldn’t have the nanobots fixing him while she was cutting him open, and they were the closest thing she has to an anaesthetic. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Tell me, do you go on more dates or more raids?” She asks, making another incision. It's a good thing the boy loves to talk. All he needs to do is stay awake. He keeps that mouth moving and everything will be fine. She lowers her head to get a closer look. The dim lights of the diner made it hard to see anything. She remembers the light on her keychain, and clicks on the meagre LED, biting down on it to keep it between her teeth. A pair of tweezers, a keychain light, and a rolled-up surgical kit are all she has to save him. She didn't want to think about the odds of his survival, so she focuses on painstakingly pulling out the minuscule scraps of metal.

Doctor Zeigler could not tell how the time passed-- time didn't seem to matter.

“M- Momma always said I- I wouldn’t amount t’ nothin’,” the boy’s drawl got stronger with each word as he fought against his body’s self-induced fatigue. “Reckon she got a point there.”

Angela mumbles some sort of affirmation as she works on the last piece of shrapnel embedded just outside the wall of his heart. The metallic iron scent of blood pervades the air. It seems stronger to her, with the addition of bullets. Maybe she was just imagining the stronger scent. Her fingers pry between his flesh, feeling as each beat of his heart brings the metal closer and closer into the chamber. Her options are to  _most likely_ let him bleed to death by pulling the shard out or  _most definitely_ kill him by letting him bleed to death internally by doing nothing at all.

_There really are no options._

Angela smiles a courteous but emotionless smile, the keychain beaming from in between her teeth, and mumbles something along the lines of “think happy thoughts” before yanking out the final, fatal piece of shrapnel. The boy bucks out of pain before his eyes roll backward and his body goes limp and relaxed.

“Scheiße.” She takes off her jacket, bundling it up, and applying pressure to the blood flowing out of his chest. One hand presses it down while the other fervently searches her bag for a plug and a clamp.

She pulls the bloodied jacket away from him. Blood fills his chest-- making it impossible to see anything. She puts her faith in her hands and let them plunge into the red pool. Her fingers slowly feel around until--

_Aha._

She feels the faintest of beats and then runs a finger along the muscle until she feels the small incision. The clamp fits nicely around a small plug to prevent further bleeding. Her bloodied hands exit his chest and she uses a pump to suction out most of the lost blood. She staples shut the cuts made by the scalpel, feeling like Frankenstein assembling his monster-- body parts stitched and sewn together. Well, if Frankenstein only dabbled in open heart surgery and not in playing God.

For two minutes, she listens for a heartbeat. The stethoscope moves in the shortest of distances across his chest, listening for a consistent beat. And consistent it is; a muted thump every second or so.

The doctor lets out a sigh, removing her stethoscope, and letting her sweat-dampened forehead rest on the tiles of the floor. A few moments later, she hears Reyes speak.

“You guys get all that?”

Angela rises, looking up to see a cellphone in Reyes' hand. She remembers the surveillance drone and hears it's small hum as it hovers in the air-- it's eye recording and streaming live to Switzerland. Overwatch was watching her through all of that.

“I told you she-- Fine... We’ll talk later... Reyes out,” he ends the call and puts the phone away. He tilts his head to the side out of curiosity. “You would save someone who would kill you?”

"I  _did_ save him," Angela retorts. "He needs proper medical attention soon. This is only a bandage."

“Good job, kid. You saved the asset.” Reyes lips do the closes thing to a smile as they can. He gets up from his seat and walks to the door. Angela frowns, his words milling through her mind.

“Hold on,” Angela calls out. “What was this?”

Reyes turns to face her. "You tell me."

“You said he is the asset. Why would you kill your asset?”

“I didn’t.”

“Because  _I_ saved him--” Angela's body reacts as she comes to the harrowing realization, "This was a test."

“And you passed.”

Her eyes feel empty and her body feels numb as she looks at the boy, only a few weeks older than she-- his half-shaven chest marred with cuts and staples and drying blood.

“You’re smart, kid. We all know it.” Reyes’ voice sounds much too gentle for the moment. For him. A barrage of footsteps sound from the front of the diner. Reyes gruffness returns and he barks orders to the newcomers. Angela is gently pulled away from the boy and the blood. She watches as they place him onto a stretcher and roll him away. EMTs surround her, covering her with a blanket and placing a bottle of water in her hands. Everyone whirls around her, repeating reassurances and praise:

“You did a good job, Doctor Ziegler.”

“Impressive work, doctor.”

“You really are a genius.”

Before she is pushed out of the diner, she glances back at the kitchen doors. The last thing she sees is the little girl peeking her head out; watching with wide eyes.

 

**The Wednesday After | CEST 06:34 **

It is incredibly early in the morning, but there was no way to tell. There are no windows in this particular hallway of the Overwatch headquarters. She sits, sullied after her impromptu surgery. Earlier, she watched from an observation window as other doctors performed surgery on the cowboy with proper equipment. They pumped him with blood and anaesthesics before opening him up, checking to see if Angela missed anything. She hadn't. The other doctors sewed him back up and filled him with fluids, murmuring about the sleep they lost. She knew she did a fantastic job at the diner for what little equipment she had at her disposal. Angela was always honest with herself. It was a way to keep her from a false kind of humility. That being said, the weight of the past hours was heavy and her lids were longing to shut out this wild world and get some rest.

“ _... the hell was that, Gabe?_ ” Morrison’s muffled voice drifts through the closed door of Ana Amari’s office.

Angela wasn't allowed inside, so she sits; wrapped in a blanket, covered in blood, and fiddling with the now-empty water bottle. Half-heartedly, she listens in on their conversation as she stares at a dust bunny dancing in the otherwise sterile hallway of the Swiss headquarters.

“ _You were the one who wanted to see her in action,_ ” Reyes bites back. “ _You saw her in action._ ”

“ _Yes, I know--_ ” the Commander sighs out of frustration. It sounds like he finds it hard to argue with Reyes’ logic. “ _I just... She’s seventeen._ ”

“ _Who was the one so eager to recruit her?_ ”

“ _Who was the one--_ ”

“ _Boys, stop your bickering,_ ” the solid voice of Amari cuts through their argument and the room goes silent. “ _You are both out of line. Take some time to clear those hot heads._ ”

A pair of feet stomp towards the door and it swings open, Reyes fist on the doorknob. He looks down at Angela observing the dust bunny. He lingers for half a second before walking away without a word.

The door is still open, the voices no longer traveling through a barrier--

“You know he did it for you,” Amari says, her voice low. The words were for Morrison alone. 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Morrison confesses. “Sorry about all this.”

“Do not apologize to me.”

Angela looks away from the dust bunny when she hears the heavy tread of the Commander approach the door. America’s pride-- their Golden Boy-- waltzes through the door in all of his glory. He bears a look of frustration, but it quickly melts away when he looks down at the doctor.

“How are you holding up?” In an instant, he seems like a different person. He practically radiates warmth, his smile filling the hallway.

Angela looks away with a shrug, not trusting herself to respond.

He takes the seat next to her and leans down, letting his elbows rest on his knees and his chin on his palm. They sit like this, idle and quiet; only the buzz of the overhead lights and the hum of air circulating through the vents above.

“You did good, doc,” Morrison says with earnest. He is facing her, now, and Angela dares to do the same-- wondering if she’d burn under his light. She didn’t. Instead, she feels like she is basking under a pleasant glow. A smile for a task she despised.

“Thank you, but... I do not wish to do this again,” she forces herself to speak above a whisper.

His smile fades but he nods. “That’s a shame... but I understand.”

“I offer you the blueprints to my designs, but that is the extent of my services.”

“I know Overwatch is... rough around the edges,” Morrison starts, his voice quiet. “But we could use someone like you. Someone who can put back together what the rest of us break.”

Her words from a few hours ago recycled back to her. Angela is glad she isn’t prone to blushing, but she can’t help the feeling of heat creeping around her neck and crawling up her scalp. She knows she is being foolish. Morrison is in his early thirties. She is barely an adult.

_Just a rush of endorphins. A trick of the body._

“I am going to leave now, Commander. I'll be back to check on the boy.” Angela stands up but staggers, her heavy, drowsy head reminding her of her fatigue. She hasn't slept in so long.

“Sleep here tonight,” Morrison sounds like he is ordering, rather than suggesting, as his hands steady her from the side. They are large and warm-- unlike her own.  “Clean up and get some rest, then I’ll feel better about sending you off.”

“Okay,” the doctor could only refuse so much from him and she let herself be lead down a maze of hallways.

 

**CEST 13:22 **

Angela didn’t remember falling asleep. She barely remembers rinsing herself of her filth and changing into the cleaner, looser clothes she wore now. Slowly, she slides out of the bed and stretches herself out before she realizes whose room it is.

She jumps up, looking around for any sign of Jack Morrison.

_Surely he wouldn’t..._ After a minute of looking through the empty room and bathroom, Angela allows herself to relax, remembering the Commander had left after grabbing a pillow.  _The Commander isn't like that._

“ _Guten tag_ , Ziegler,” Athena’s voice reverberates through the room.

“ _Guten tag_ , Athena,” Angela smiles, grateful that she is able to use her native tongue. “ _Wo ist der Kommandant_?”

“Morrison, Reyes, and Amari are with Jesse McCree,” Athena answers in English.

“Jesse McCree?”

“Your patient in the ICU.”

_So that is his name._

“ _Danke,_ Athena,” the doctor thanks the AI as she hastily puts her bra on under the large shirt. She rolls up the sleeves that went down to her elbows and doesn't even bother to put on shoes as she jobs down the hallway, following the signs as best she can towards Overwatch's medical facility.

The "hospital" of Overwatch consisted of a rather small section made up of an ER, a couple of operating rooms, and an intensive care unit-- then their members took care of themselves from there. It was rather immediate and intense; much like the rest of Overwatch.

The doors open of their own accord when Angela slows to a walk in front of them. Morrison, Amari, and Reyes stand around the boy’s bed. Everyone except Jesse has their arms folded across their chest. The trio surrounding her patient all have the same furrow in their brow. She wonders if they acquired the habit together or was just a common trait they all shared. They boy looks strange, scrubbed free of all blood and dirt, and clad in a hospital gown. 

“I know you,” the cowboy smiles, waving a nonchalant hand. “You patched me up.”

“You were about to kill her,” Morrison snaps.

“What would you do to a person pointing a gun at you?” McCree shrugs, before addressing Angela again. “No hard feelings, right?”

“Be still,” Angela sighs, going to his side and checking his vitals on the screen. Everything seemed good. “I need to take a few blood samples to check on your hemoglobin levels-- among other things.”

“You’re takin’ my blood to see if I have enough blood?”

“Basically.”

"You all finished with him, kid?" Reyes asks Ziegler.

"His body needs to recover from the trauma of undergoing two surgeries under 24 hours, otherwise he is fine," Angela replies.

"Good. In that case, Jesse McCree, you're hereby arrested for association and conspiring with the Deadlock Gang in mass acts of terror and destruction of life and property." Reyes words hit like a shotgun blast.

Angela is quiet, almost forgetting the task at hand. She wraps a band around his bicep before sticking the needle into his vein. She tries not to listen as she fills a few vials with his blood. It wasn't a bloody mess flowing from his body, but a steady, controlled stream.

_ As it should be. _

“For all of Deadlock’s crimes,” Amari sounds bored as she hits him with his jail time. “Each member will have to serve their own sentence of one hundred and fifty years.”

_Practically two lifetimes,_ Angela thinks to herself as she removes the band and the needle, wiping at the prick of blood emerging, and taping gauze down. The cowboy has no clever retort this time as he ponders the prospect of a cold cell.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you... or in your favor," Reyes ends cryptically. McCree's face betrays a look of confusion, but not of fear. His heart does that. The heart rate monitor starts it's mechanical scream at the sudden irregularity of his heart beating incredibly fast.

“Everyone out,” Angela orders the soldiers twice her age. They don't immediately comply, so she points to the door. "Everyone. Now."

Angela thinks she sees Amari smile before the regal woman leaves. Reyes lets out a signature grunt and makes his exit, grabbing Morrison’s elbow and dragging him along. The doors shut behind them and Angela adjusts some of the fluids and presses the blood bag, forcing the blood to drain the bag faster.

“Breathe with me,” Angela takes the boy’s hand and takes deep, meditative breaths. He breathes along with her and it only takes half a minute until the machine stops it’s incessant beeping. “Don’t go through too many emotions. You could break your heart."

She expects some corny, American one-liner about a broken heart but receives only silence. The cowboy is uncharacteristically quiet as he stares at nothing in particular.  Unsure of how to proceed, she pulls a chair beside his bed and sits down, gently patting his hand. She found that a physical reassurance helped remind most patients that they were not alone, despite whatever mentality convinced them otherwise.

"That man," he speaks, his voice is soft but hints at years of wear and tear from years of tobacco and alcohol abuse. "He's the one who shot me, ain't he?"

Times like these-- times when it really mattered-- Angela loathed to speak the truth.

“Yes.”

They are quiet for a few moments. The tips of her fingers feel dull as they softly thud against the cowboy's hand.

"You... You're with 'em-- with Overwatch-- right?" He looks at Angela, eyes wide like the child at the diner.

Her hand hesitates before resuming her gentle patting.  _An honest half truth:_ "They have offered me a position here."

"Well, I guess they ain't all that bad, then," McCree smiles, his lips shaking from how nervous he is. He nestles his head into the hospital pillow and takes a deep breath.

 

Angela doesn't answer. She just pats his hand while a thousand-- no, a million-- thoughts run through her mind. She keeps patting his hand until she hears his young snore rumble through his throat and out his nose, then leaves him to his rest.

Out in the hallways, she pulls out her phone and stands motionless for a while as she researches and calculates and concludes.

“Athena,” Angela speaks, knowing Athena was all around her at all times.

“Yes, Doctor Ziegler?”

“Where is Commander Morrison?”

“He is in his office, along with Ana Amari and Gabriel Reyes.”

“Thank you.”

Angela marches down the hallway with no shoes and clad in nothing but a large shirt and shorts. Goosebumps cover her as the vents blow cold wind over her and her mind battles with her decision. 

She shouldn’t be doing this; she swore she wouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t. But she could, so she would.

She swings the door open to Morrison’s office, the trio of soldiers stand in a circle around the Commander’s desk.

“If I am to join your Overwatch, I have demands that must be met.”

Reyes betrays no emotion, Amari blinks a couple of times, and Morrison immediately responds with "Whatever you need."

“I need an office of my own and the medical facilities must be expanded. In addition,” her eyes flit to Reyes for a moment before they return to Morrison. “Permission to outfit all Overwatch members with biometric scanners and knowledge of all Overwatch member activities and equipment. No exceptions. I can only help them if their bodies help me."

"Done," Morrison doesn't miss a beat.

"And," Angela adds, "the cowboy is seventeen."  _Like me._ "Please help him."

Reyes' eyebrows furrow and Amari smirks, her lips tugging to one side. Morrison practically releases a sigh of relief.  The pride of America, the Golden Boy, shines through Morrison as he beams and walks around his desk, sticking his hand out to Angela.

“Welcome to Overwatch, Doctor Ziegler.”

 

**Two Weeks Later | CEST 18:21 **

"I bet you I'm the youngest member of Overwatch. I was the Deadlock's youngest recruit, too," the cowboy titters as he and the doctor eat dinner together in his new room. Neither of them were comfortable enough to eat in the mess hall, yet. 

"Hm?" Angela asks, a sandwich stuffed in her mouth.

"I'm eighteen in a few hours," he smiles, taking another bite. Angela frowns a little when he speaks through his full mouth, "Still  _technically_ seventeen years of age."

"Hm..." Angela ponders this before she swallows her sandwich. "I am seventeen for a few more weeks, so I believe  _I_ am the youngest member of Overwatch."

Jesse laughs. "Didn't know you could joke, doc." 

Angela doesn't say a word as she rummages through her bag for her wallet, tossing it to him. McCree opens it and takes a look at her driver's license. She can't help but smile at the cowboy's soft surprise--

" _No shit._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MST: Mountain Standard Time   
>  CEST: Central European Summer Time   
>  Universitätsspital Zürich: The University Hospital Zurich   
>  _Ich liebe dich, Schatz_ : I love you, treasure / darling   
>  Scheiße: Shit   
>  _Guten tag_ : Good day   
>  _Wo ist der Kommandant?_ : Where is the Commander?   
>  _Danke_ : Thanks   
>    
>  [Talk to me on tumblr here.](http://exousiha.tumblr.com)   
>  Note for future chapters: When it says "# Years Ago", the "Present Day" is the Recall. Which I haven't gotten to yet. Stay tuned~   
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits made 22 August 2017 for an addition to plot.

**A Tuesday 10 Years Ago | JST 21:32**

"Howdy," a familiar, smoke-stained voice drawls from her door.

"Howdy?" Angela grimaces, turning to face the culprit. Jesse McCree leans against the doorframe, with a mischievous, lopsided grin and a bottle of champagne.

"What else can I say? I'm a gun-slinging cowboy," He shrugs. "I'm stopping myself from tipping my hat."

"What are you doing here, Jesse?" Angela takes off her glasses and turns away from her valkyrie suit, lay open on the table. She was filling the combustible seams with nanobots. During the last mission, they had a run-in with some thugs of the Shimada clan. Well, thugs would be doing them a disservice. They were trained, skilled, and dangerous. Angela had to use her suit to patch everyone up quickly. They were on the brink of death. Fans of the Overwatch organization called it her "ultimate", or something along those lines. There were a couple of names thrown around the community, but eventually settled on that. She was able to get everyone fighting again and nearly overwhelmed the Shimada clan, but they vanished into the night.

Hence, why she was tinkering away in Watchpoint: Kyoto while Reyes, Morrison, Amari, Reinhardt, and Torbjorn scouted the Shimada clan's headquarters, an entire city on a hill. She had to prepare for the final confrontation. 

She didn't mind. It is a beautiful place. The facility was structured after traditional Japanese architecture. The walls and doors weren't just constructed out of paper and wood, but the design made it feel like they were. It felt like another world when Angela got the chance to step out of her office. Her office looked exactly the same as her office at all the other watchpoints. Sterile, sleek, and filled with the latest technology, because she and Overwatch were the ones creating that new technology. When she needed a break from shaping the future, she could take a step outside into the past.

It was the closest to a vacation she ever got.

"I thought you'd be with Reyes," Angela confesses, crossing her legs.

"Nah, old man doesn't need me quite yet. He knows I'd be itchin' to start somethin'," McCree chuckles before he saunters into her office. He was a saunterer. Rarely did the man go anywhere without  _sauntering_.

"So, what is the-"

"Happy birthday, doc," Jesse sings, bringing the champagne up to eye level.

_Oh, right._ She'd almost forgotten it was her birthday. Her 27th.

"Did you forget?" He asks as he stops in front of an operating table, he pushes some of the equipment on it aside before hopping up on it. He could read her like a children's book.

"No," Angela lied, before standing up. She looks at him for five seconds before asking- "Did you forget to bring glasses?"

"You know I drink straight from the bottle," Jesse retorts.

"You are unbelievable," Angela sighs, but can't help a small smile from forming at her lips. She walks over to a cabinet and pulls out a beaker. There is some sort of residue, so she goes to the sink and rinses it with some water.

"Unbelievable? Look who's talking. Who knows what you've put in that thing," Jesse shudders as Angela presents the beaker to him.

"I know. And we're in a medical lab. I'll be fine," she says with a shrug and beckons for the cowboy to fill the beaker with the sparkling liquid. He does, and she hops up on the table beside him and clinks her beaker to his bottle.

"Cheers, good doctor. May you live long enough to keep me alive," Jesse proclaims.

"May you finally become skilled enough that you will no longer need my assistance," Angela laughs. The two of them drink for a long, few seconds before taking a breath.

"You'll always be here to patch me up. I don't need to worry about getting better, just getting back," Jesse nudges Angela, smiling like a fool.

Angela could only give back a weak smile. When she joined to keep an eye on him... She didn't realize that she'd still be a part of Overwatch for another ten years. She didn't realize she could be completely roped in to such an organization.

Angela sighs, before she brings the beaker to her lips.

"Incoming transmission from:  _Gabriel Reyes,_ " Athena's voice announces before the sounds of wind and shouting blare from her computer, " _Mercy-! Ziegler, come in."_

Ziegler's heart stopped racing in a panic at every distress call a couple years after she joined. Now, it was part of the job. She was worried if there  _wasn't_ a distress call. She hops off the operating table and jogs over to her computer. She holds down the comms button: "Mercy, here. What is the situation?"

"We need you to prep for operation."

"What kind of operation?"

A brief moment of static chaos before Reyes responds, "Meet me on the helipad. See for yourself. Reyes out."

The room fills with silence when Reyes cuts out. Something about his hesitation makes Ziegler shudder. She slaps at her cheeks, then goes to the sink, dumps the champagne, and fills the beaker with freezing tap water. She drinks herself sober and tosses the beaker in, the glass bouncing against the metal and making a hollow cacophony of sound.

"Jesse," Angela turns to the cowboy, who hops off the table.

"What do you need me to do, Doc?"

"Clean up as much as you can, starting with the operating table. And hide the champagne," she orders as she puts her hair up in a ponytail. She grabs a stethoscope and a light. Before she leaves she jogs over to her friend, giving him a light squeeze of a hug. " _Danke_  for the moment, Jesse."

" _Bitte_ ," McCree squeezes back with one arm and terrible pronunciation.

Angela removes herself from the embrace and starts her run to the helipad.

"Athena, clear the hallways for me. Make sure no-one and nothing is in the way," Angela requests, feeling small beads of sweat form at her hairline as she dashes through the corridors.

"Understood," Athena complies. Angela can hear the locks on the door slide into place and Athena's voice in the rooms, informing agents of the situation.

"Thank you."

It takes a quick minute, but Angela gets to the doors of the helipad and slows down, allowing them to open automatically. She is welcomed by the sight of a Blackwatch shuttle descending on the helipad, its lights pulsing against the inky night sky. The air is humid, a sure sign of a gathering storm.

The side door opens before the shuttle completely lands. The engines aren't even shut off before Reyes pulls along a couple of Blackwatch agents pushing along a gurney.

She runs to them, pulling the stethoscope from her neck.

"What happe..." Angela trails off as she gets a good look at the body.

Or, what's left of the body.

His right arm was completely gone. His left arm was in tact, but bent out of shape. His legs, save for the edges of the bones poking out from his hips, were gone. His body, starting from his chest looks like it was torn apart or burned off. His throat and lower half of his face...

She puts the stethoscope back around her neck then puts her fingers to what is left of his neck. She feels no-

_There you are_ , she thinks, as she feels the gentle pulse - as gentle as a baby bird flapping its wings.  _Too gentle._

Angela climbs up on the gurney and straddles the body. She puts her hands on the man's chest and begin pushing. She couldn't tell from all the blood, but this man is strong. He has a chest of muscle.

Whoever... _Whatever_ did this to him is strong.

"Take him to my office," Dr. Ziegler commands as she begins compressions. Until she can get him to the proper equipment, she will act as his heartbeat.

She can feel his blood poking at her clothes. No doubt staining them. The lights of the hallway pass by like gentle flashes and Angela sees her moving shadow over the near-dead man underneath her.

"...twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty," Angela counts, before she pauses and takes a deep breath. She pinches at his nose and feels his exposed flesh at her finger tips. Before she can hesitate, she puts her lips over where his used to be and breathes as much life into him as possible. And again. She sits up, feeling a bit of his blood dripping around her mouth. Her hair stands up on end all over the back of her neck and arms but she starts compressions again, "One, two, three, four, five..."

Athena has the doors to her office open already.

"Reyes, what--" Jesse stops at the scene, "--in the hell."

"Caduceus," Angela orders, as she scrambles off the body.

Jesse nods and jogs over to the corner of the room where her caduceus staff leans against the wall. He grabs the staff and the small IV-like tubes sprouting from the top of the staff sit against the wall. It almost looks like a mop. He jogs back to Angela, the tubes hitting against the metal like chimes.

It is still a prototype, and has many flaws but would be able to get the job done. Crudely.

"Hold it still," Angela says as she activates the staff. It emits a golden glow and hums to life. She grabs a tube and fiddles with the end of it, attaching a syringe. She makes sure everything's in place before plunging the needle into the broken man's good arm.

Everyone is still and quiet for a moment. The silence only broken by a jagged inhale through the man's torn throat. His chest expands and Angela watches his lungs fill through his opened rib cage. His eyes are filled with a blind panic and he convulses wildly. He tries to swing his only arm but Angela pins it down.

"Enough! If you move, you will die," Angela warns, through gritted teeth.

The manic eyes of the man look at Angela and widen more and he relaxes. He tries to speak, but can only let out a small exhale of a grunt. His chest rises and falls and the caduceus lights up as his heart rate increases.

"Patel, get Nurse Zambrano, please. Tell her to bring painkillers. All of them," Angela says as she lets go of the man's arm.

"Angela--"

"Not now, McCree." Angela turns to Reyes. "What happened? Who is he?"

"Amari reported a bright light coming from the castle and when she put her scope on where the light came from, she says she saw a body get thrown over a large balcony of the castle, close to where we were scouting. Reinhardt found the body first, saw it being carried downstream. He thought he was dead but saw that he was still breathing. I wanted to end his misery, but..." Reyes sighs. "He's here now."

Angela shuts her eyes and feels her pulse in her forehead.

"So, you bring me barely a body of a man who should be dead and expect me to save what little remains?" Angela spits out. "I am not God. I will not play that game."

"You  _can_ save him. I know you can," Reyes shoots back. "What good is it being the best doctor in the world if you won't rise to the occasion?"

"Just because I can doesn't mean I should. He would be living a half life. He wouldn't be able to  _breathe_ without assistance. You would have me make a vegetable-"

"Angel," a gruff voice cuts through all the bickering.

Angela looks towards the voice of Morrison, dressed in black and covered in camouflaging face paint. He smiles and walks into the room, his eyes warm on her, though he walks to his lover. The Commander wraps Reyes in a quick embrace. Reyes relaxes, holding onto his hand and squeezing it before they both look at the body. Everyone is quiet as Nurse Zambrano shuffles in with the painkillers and a proper IV drip.

Dr. Ziegler takes the painkillers and shoots it into the man's neck. He flinches before his eyes glaze over and he stares at the ceiling.

"Take care of him for me," Ziegler murmurs to Zambrano before she walks over to Morrison and Reyes.

"Status?" Morrison asks.

"He should be dead. He practically is," Angela answers.

"You saved him, Angel," Morrison smiles.

"I saved half of a body," Angela retorts.

"Let him rest. You get some, too. Figure out a way to communicate with him and then ask him what he would like to do. Let him know the facts and then let him decide. No-one has to play God," Morrison reasons.

Angela tries to hold his unwavering stare, but has to break away. How do you argue sense into a man who always believes he's right? How do you argue to the paragon of the free world that humans are irrational, emotional beings who would rather cling to life now rather understand the futility of the future?

"Alright. But no-one is allowed back into this room until he has made his decision. Understood?" Angela compromises.

"That's fine by me," Morrison smiles. He turns to Reyes and takes his hand. "Come on. We should get some rest, too."

Reyes doesn't say a word as Morrison pulls him along past Dr. Ziegler. She hears the doors open and close and then balls her right hand into a fist, digging her nails into her palm to keep from shaking too much.

_What the hell are they playing at? Why do they want to keep him alive?_  

She takes a deep breath and takes slow, measured steps until she's beside the gurney.

"Patel, Zambrano, McCree," Angela says. "Put him on the operating table."

They comply, lifting the body slowly and carefully until he rests on the sterile paper and slightly padded surface.

"You can leave now. Get some rest, Zambrano. I'll need you later," Angela orders.

Zambrano and Patel nod, shuffling out of the room. Before they leave, they glance back at the man and then at Ziegler before quickly looking away.

"That means you, too, cowboy," Angela sighs, taking her mess of a ponytail out and gathering it back up again. She could feel the grease from her hair against her hands. She hadn't washed her hair since the day before.

"Angela," Jesse says softly.

"What?" She snaps, turning to him.

"You're quite the sight at the moment. No wonder the boy was terrified," Jesse smiles a little. Angela frowns a little before Jesse walks over to her. He puts both hands on her shoulders and gently turns her towards the mirror. Angela almost jumps at her own reflection:

Blood is caught in her hair and smeared across her lips. Her eyes are wide open and her pupils like pinpoints. She looks crazed, like a madwoman who eats human flesh. What a horrible sight.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Jesse smiles, abandoning her side to sift through the many cabinets until he finds a first-aid kit. He pulls out some disinfectant wipes and begins wiping away the blood around her mouth and specks around her face. "Close your eyes."

She does, feeling the cool, wet wipe against her skin, leaving a tingling sensation. When Jesse pulls at her hands, she opens her eyes, her eyes looking at the blood turn brown on the wipe.

" _Son of a bitch_. What did you do to your hand, Angel?" Jesse chides, holding up her right hand. Crescent moon-shaped incisions from where her nails dug in line the middle of her palm. He reprimands her with a look before putting a generous amount of rubbing alcohol on a cotton swab. "This'll sting," he deadpans before wiping at her hands.

Angela grits her teeth as the overdose of rubbing alcohol cleans out her cuts.

The cowboy tosses the swab to the side and starts wrapping up her hand. He is surprisingly gentle as he ties up the gauze and lets go of her hand.

"You know the gauze sticks together on its own. No need to tie it up," Angela informs him.

"Well, shit, why didn't you say so earlier?" McCree laughs, throwing away the used first aid supplies and putting the kit away.

"Thank you, cowboy."

"No problem, doc. Holler if you need anything," Jesse smiles. He takes Angela's left hand and squeezes it. "It'll be alright."

Angela nods, slipping her hand away from his rough fingers. "You should go. It's late in the night and I need to figure out how to talk to him."

"Sleep when you can, Angel," McCree suggests. He goes to Angela's desk and opens the bottom drawer. He pulls out the half-finished bottle of champagne before sauntering out of her office.

"I doubt I can," Angela says to herself before walking over to the body.

His eyes were closed and the IV drip was properly applied. A cannula tubed snaked around the man's head, pushing air into his nose. The caduceus used and recycled nanobots to mend anything that had to be immediately fixed. Organs stitched themselves back up and blood stopped flowing out of his body.

He should be dead.

She wondered if he was staying alive out of sheer spite or willpower.

"Athena, can you help me?"

* * *

**A Wednesday, 10 Years Ago | JST 04:09**

Angela blinks her eyes open. The world looks like its tilted sideways and she realizes she fell asleep at her desk. It happened a lot with her. She lifts her head up and pulls off a piece of paper clinging to her face from her own drool. She wipes at her face and rubs her eyes.

She looks at her watch. It's barely morning.

"Athena, wake him up. He's had enough rest for half a man," Angela says, getting up from her seat and standing next to the operating table. She adjusts the makeshift mirror above the man's head and tilts it until he can see his own hand, and not his own face. That's not a sight she wanted anyone to wake up. A mirror is positioned to reflect his hand and a tablet she placed next to his fingers. It is a crude way to communicate, but she didn't have much choice on such short notice.

"Waking patient up now," Athena chimes from the caduceus.

The man's lungs expand suddenly and his eyes slowly open up. They are groggy but present.

"Hello. My name is Angela Ziegler," Angela says, standing next to his head. The man's eyes look up to meet her's.

"こんにちは。 私の名前はアンジェラチーグラーです。" Athena says, immediately after Angela.

"With your left hand, I need you to point to the letters on the screen through this mirror. Please answer my questions honestly and to the best of your ability. I will try to keep the questions simple. Do you understand?"

Athena translates and the man blinks in understanding. He looks into the mirror and wiggles his fingers as best he can. Angela put his broken arm into a cast for the time being. Further movement would damage it.

The man points to a word on the screen.

"Yes," Athena says.

"Great," Angela smiles. "You are at an Overwatch watchpoint in Kyoto. Are you familiar with Overwatch?"

_Yes._

"Someone says they watched you... fall from Shimada Castle. Are you familiar with Shimada Castle?"

_Yes._

"What is your relation to the Shimada clan?"

_Family._

"Family?" Angela murmurs to herself. Dread exercises her heart as she speaks the next question: "What is your name?"

源氏.

"He says his name is Genji," Athena says.

"Your full name," Ziegler says.

島田源氏.

"Genji Shimada."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the year-long delay. I didn't know how to best continue this story, and then life caught up with me. I'm gonna start on the next chapter tonight and hopefully update more regularly this year! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


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